


If kisses could be writ with ink...

by darkrogue1 (Lily_Haydee_Lohdisse)



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-17
Updated: 2006-11-17
Packaged: 2018-07-29 13:39:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7686706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lily_Haydee_Lohdisse/pseuds/darkrogue1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in response to the 30_kisses themes.</p><p>#2. news; letter<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	If kisses could be writ with ink...

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-read by [](http://slytherisa.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://slytherisa.livejournal.com/)**slytherisa**
> 
> Inspiring quotes :  
> 
> 
>   
>  'My heart to yours sounds but one cry:  
>  If kisses fast could flee  
>  By letter, then with your sweet lips  
>  My letters read should be!  
>  If kisses could be writ with ink,  
>  If kisses fast could flee!'  
>    
>  "Croyez que devers vous mon coeur ne fait qu´un cri,  
>  Et que si les baisers s´envoyaient par écrit,  
>  Madame, vous liriez ma lettre avec les lèvres !"  
>  Cyrano de Bergerac, Acte III scene 1.

  
Shibuya Yuuri, the 27th Maou, did not know how to read or write in the demon language when he arrived in Shinmakoku, and since that day he has been training under Gunther's supervision. True enough there were mistakes at first, but now he can read almost without stopping at every syllable. Writing is still difficult, however. Each time he remembers the first letter he addressed to Gunther, Yuuri shudders with horror... so he trains.  
  
He trains in secret and gets up again at night when Wolfram is fast asleep and snoring, waking up from his resolve to write tonight alone, or after he has had a terrible nightmare. He lights a candle and sits at his desk, takes a feather and ink and writes. He writes letters which he doesn't address or sign, plain letters about his days, without names or places, only with his feelings. Once a week and for a reason he ignores, he sends them, no address and only a first name and a country on the envelope: he doesn't hope they'll be received.  
  
\---------  
  
Every now and then a letter will arrive as though by some miracle, sometimes torn and battered, rarely in perfect shape. Conrad never answers them: no corresponding with the enemy. But he still reads them and looks forward to them. He needs this one-way flow of news, a proof he is not forgotten. He remembers the first one he received, the familiar if somewhat wobbly writing of his name on the dirty envelope. He waited until night to open it, fearing insults, accusations or worse. When he finally read the simple words of everyday life however, tears flowed as if he couldn't believe the extent of goodness the sender possessed.  
  
Now still he waits all day to read those letters, and at night in the darkness of his small room he pours over them... He doesn't really read the words but what lingers between the lines, and sometimes, when every source of light is off, he pulls out the last letter and reads it again, eyes closed, with his lips.  
  



End file.
